


Erendis: A Love Story

by Oshun



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Númenor, Second Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A more intimate recounting of aspects of the story of Erendis and Aldarion, which appears in Tolkien's <i>Unfinished Tales</i> as <i>Aldarion and Erendis: The Mariner's Wife</i>. This is the story of two intense individuals whose passion for and obsession with one another equals their differences and contradictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The King's Court

**Author's Note:**

> Erendis is not mentioned in _The Silmarillion_ proper. Her tale, told in detail in _The Mariner’s Wife_. It paints a vivid pictures of the society and the politics of Númenor in the first half of the Second Age and sets a background for the deeds of the great sea-kings of Númenor. As a woman and the wife of the sixth ruler of Númenor, Tar-Aldarion, Erendis rivals the most significant women in Tolkien’s legendarium in forcefulness of personality and certainly in sheer number of words expended upon her behalf. [Excerpted from my own Biography of Erendis, published by the Silmarillion Writers Guild. http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/reference/characterofthemonth/erendis.php ]

This happy breed of men, this little world  
This precious stone set in the silver sea  
\-- _The Tragedy of_ _King Richard II,_ William Shakespeare

 

* * *

Erendis looked into the peristyle garden. Waxy green vines twined around the sand-colored pillars as though creeping upward to reach the evening sky. Except for its size, the King’s enclosure was not all that dissimilar from the courtyard of their townhouse. Her father had let a fine one for their two-month stay in Armenelos. Located on one of the tree-lined streets behind the palace, the house came at a shocking cost. But then Beregar was not short on coin. They had only been at court for a week, but Erendis had already begun to feel less overwhelmed.   
  
“A taste of luxury for a change will do both you _and_ your mother good,” her father had insisted. She resented the implication that she was somehow less than perfectly well exactly the way she was. She was young, intelligent, and even pretty—people were constantly telling her that—and in robust health. If anyone thought she might be narrow or provincial, then they had spent too many evenings in the company of the unmarried maidens and lads of Armenelos. Her world had always encompassed more than pretty dresses and the stilted banter that passed for cleverness at Court.  
  
Back home in the Andustar she had the freedom to roam as she willed over the green fields and forested lands contained within the borders of her father’s extensive holdings near Emerië. Even when they stayed for periods of time in the port of Andúnië, she visited to the market alone and walked alongside the quay, lined on one side with ships and shipbuilding and the other with taverns and inns. She could watch the ships at anchor for refitting or the ones gliding out of the harbor bound for ports both near and far. She had seen far more of the world than those hollow maids of Armenelos riding about in their father’s covered carriages from home to court and back again.  
  
As a little girl, she had liked to lean against the seawall and look off into the distance, pretending she could see the lights of Avallónë. Doubtless she had seen the reflection of the setting sun upon the water. But it was amusing and romantic to imagine catching a glimpse of the Undying Lands to the West. She did have the opportunity, more than once, to see an Eldarin ship dock.  
  
Those Elven sailors, light-footed on the polished decks and agile aloft in the riggings, were to a man as pretty as any lady she had ever seen. Grinning, like ordinary sailors do when pulling into port after a long voyage, they waved at the girls and laughed. Yet they remained as fascinating and untouchable as any woodland sprites. Finally, they would drop their smirks and flirting to give all of their attention to easing their ship into its tight berth. Breaking into a thrumming rhythmic chant, they sounded heart-achingly wistful contrasted to the bawdy doggerel of the shanties of the sunburned sailors of Andúnië. Of course, to her childish ears, everything sounded elegant in the High Elven tongues of Aman.  
  
But setting aside her desire to catch a sight of comely Eldarin mariners again or eat iced oysters sprinkled with the famous peppery red sauce of Andúnië, Erendis far preferred the inland to the coast. She disliked the screeching clamor of the gulls of the haven, the relentless noise and bustle of ports with their ubiquitous smell of tar and day-old fish guts.

She loved the rocky foothills of the northern part of the Westlands, which everyone knew had the sweetest air in all of Númenor. There the meadows, filled with wild flowers, ran up to the edges of virgin pine forests and newborn lambs gamboled in the springtime, all before a backdrop of mountain peaks against a brilliant blue sky. Here in Armenelos, she pouted, her father did not even allow her to go out unaccompanied and she walked almost nowhere.  
  
Not that she tried to deny her curiosity about the magnificent City of Kings and its much praised learning and arts promoted by the heirs of Elros Peredhel.  But even as she appreciated the finer points of Armenelos, she was reminded of the old adage—a lovely place to visit, but not somewhere she would ever want to live.  
  
Beregar and Núneth enjoyed the entertainment available to them in the city, formal and informal dinners at court, theaters and concerts. And she wanted to see her parents happy. Queen Almarian herself had developed a particular liking for Erendis and Núneth.  
  
Even the King attempted to ingratiate himself to Beregar seeking both political support and investors for his latest ventures. Her parents reveled in the royal attention. The Valar bless them, she thought, unable to begrudge them their small vanities in Armenelos.

They surely deserved to enjoy the fruits of their long years of work and careful nurturing of the family fortunes. Her father, the youngest of three sons of a family of barely moderate means, had pursued her mother and met with her favor when his only assets comprised a small holding, its white washed stucco house, and the few sheep grazing there. Clearly Núneth had seen a spark of something notable in the brash young man who wooed her with such passion.

Beregar had grown, with a combination of natural intelligence and organizational skills, to become a wealthy landowner. In fact, he ranked as one of the richest men of common birth in the northwestern part of the isle, first among the wealthy suppliers of the wool of Andustar, a region famed for the quality of its fleece and shrewd traders.  
  
In the half-light and under a darkening sapphire sky, the ladies settled themselves upon the couches and divans arranged behind low tables on either side of those of the Queen and the two young princesses. The courtiers and gentlemen guests had rode out earlier with the King to informally greet his son and heir who had been sighted reentering the city after an absence of several months.  
  
Serving girls clad in identical flowing gowns of the palest of mint green moved soundlessly among the guests, circulating platters of delicacies that looked too pretty to eat, along with frosted glasses of spiced iced wine. Their equally silent male counterparts, clad in matching short chitons, lit the sconces around the perimeter of the space.  
  
“Please enjoy some simple refreshments while we wait,” Queen Almarian said, smiling and gesturing toward the platters filled with small triangles of flatbread spread with soft cheese and garnished with jewel-bright berries, or pimientos, red onions and olives. There were also tiny cubes of chicken roasted in honey and slices of melon and green apples.  When a serving girl eased a tray practically under her chin, Erendis looked down disconcerted, uncertain of what she was expected to do. Another server handed her a gold-plated fork and a fine linen napkin.  
  
“Please eat, Lady Erendis,” said the Queen. She insisted upon addressing her as _Lady_ , which Erendis found false and pretentious, although she otherwise liked the warm and motherly Queen.  
  
“We will be holding dinner tonight for another hour or so.” The Queen lowered her voice to an intimate tone, leaning across Núneth to address herself directly to Erendis. “I promise the delay will be worth the wait. My son has finally returned from a trip inspecting the hardwood forests north of here. He should join us shortly. I am so looking forward to introducing you to him.”  
  
“ _Ai_ , my darling brother. Wood and ships!” Princess Ailinel lisped, a sallow-complexioned clever girl, with an overbite and lank pale hair, but as kind and generous in manner as her mother. “That is all he ever talks of, or thinks about. Ships, ships, ships and the sea. And the timber for building himself a fleet, of course.”  
  
Erendis could not tell if the lisp was an intentional affectation or a speech defect related to her rabbity teeth. It occurred to her that the slight malformation was far from entirely displeasing. No doubt, some young man would fall in love with the cunning princess one day and consider the flaw charming.  
  
“That is _not_ all he cares about,” her sister declared. The younger princess was a porcelain doll of a child with perfect features and heavy golden curls. “He loves us and his homeland, and likes attractive young women too. Is he in for a surprise! I suspect that he has never seen a lady as pretty and exotic as you.”  
  
Erendis restrained herself from pointing out that everyone knew that he had been across the sea and back, twice at least. Therefore, he had seen a great deal that that was more exotic than a northern girl who did not follow the mode of dress and hair fashionings of the capital. Instead, she flushed, half-pleased, half-disconcerted at being called pretty yet again. Her looks had not been one of her preoccupations while growing up nor was it something she particularly wanted to be measured by. She stammered her thanks to the girl, still feeling like a prize lamb at a village fair.  
  
Rumor had it that Aldarion had already dismissed out of hand all of the maidens presented to him who hailed from Armenelos and its surrounding areas. Apparently, she was fresh blood, his family’s newest hope that they might have found a lady who could suit the heir to the Sceptre of Númenor.  
  
It was refreshing as well as shocking to her that these two princesses, his little sisters, said whatever came into their girlish heads, however bold or inappropriate. She might have freedom of movement at home, but they were far freer with their tongues. Their most outrageous statements were met with indulgent chuckles by their elders. At least she would not have to worry about saying the wrong thing in this court.  
  
Nonetheless, the royal children were agreeable enough in their own pampered way. She wondered not for the first time about their older brother. With one intellectual sister and another strikingly pretty, Aldarion might be smart or handsome, or both. People described him as tall and fair of face, light-haired like his siblings. Erendis did not claim to have a preferred physical type as many young maidens did. Her only requirement relating to suitors was that she would not suffer a fool.  
  
The best friend of her girlhood in the Westlands had recently told Erendis that she was long overdue to be kissed. She was probably right also. Perhaps she should begin to pay more attention to young men, but she would prefer not to start with this one. The risks were too high and the scrutiny of others would be too intrusive.  
  
Núneth shot her a surreptitious wink. Her mother had expressed the strong opinion that she favored the Crown Prince Aldarion for her only daughter, sight unseen. Since they had arrived in Armenelos, she had been trying to convince Erendis that there was not a maiden in the city who could rival her beauty. How her mother could tell was not at all obvious to Erendis. All of the fine ladies near her age in Armenelos had their hair curled, crimped and pinned up into lavish arrangements, with their faces powdered and painted until they had successfully obscured anything, whether pleasant or homely, that might lie beneath all that artifice.  
  
Besides, she thought, everyone knows that every mother thinks her precious darling is the fairest maid of all. So Núneth’s opinion carried little weight. Erendis told herself that, in any case, she did not want a suitor who loved a maid for her looks alone. She wanted someone who could share her values and interests, someone who would respect her mind, who would confide in her. She was in no more of a hurry to find a husband than Tar-Meneldur’s heir was to take a wife.  
  
Time crawled as the languid afternoon warmth faded into a fresh cool evening, perfect for entertaining under a canopy of stars. With nothing else to distract her, Erendis could have eaten a platter full of the sweet glazed chicken cubes, especially accompanied by the tart green apple slices. The courtly gossip held no interest for her. She did not recognize the names of even half of the protagonists featuring in the scandalous or humorous stories that abounded at this sort of evening entertainment.  
  
A plaintive flute bleated loudly enough to cause the prattling women to raise their voices, while the individual notes of the melody remained difficult to decipher over the frightful din. Wondering how she would be able eat a bite at dinner, Erendis plopped into her mouth what she promised herself would be the absolute last one she would eat of the scrumptious chicken pieces. Just then the music stopped abruptly and everyone scrambled to their feet.  
  
Erendis’ fork hit the tiled floor with a jarring metallic clang. The littlest princess, the pretty one, Almiel was her name, Erendis thought, could not restrain a muffled snort. She mouthed, “Sorry,” at Erendis, who could not resist returning her grin.

Everyone struggled to bend a knee in the direction of the doorway with varying degrees of clumsiness. There simply was no graceful of way to rise from a semi-reclining position, fork and napkin in hand, and execute a curtsey, while taking care not to knock over one’s wine glass or that of anyone else.  
  
King Írimon, announced by a courtier in a resounding nasal tone as His Majesty Tar-Meneldur, swept into the courtyard with an entourage of courtiers, nobles, and honored gentlemen, including Erendis’ father. They filed into the enclosure with a clatter of boots and ornamental swords. The last of the crowd was the guest of honor, Prince Aldarion, chatting with a dark, thin, elegant man that Erendis knew to be the Meneldur’s secretary of the treasury.  
  
“Please. Please sit down,” said the King, motioning to the ladies with a royal wave of the hand.


	2. First Engagement

  
Erendis knew she would never forget the moment she saw Aldarion for the first time.

He stood noticeably taller than his father, who was far from a short man. Aldarion had a rugged jaw line, coupled with the Elvish high cheeks bones and the lovely mouth of the line of Elros. Instead of the grey eyes and black hair of his many times removed granddame Lúthien, he more resembled portraits that Erendis had seen of Eärendil the Mariner with his thick golden hair.

She imagined this man could have been the model for a painting of Eärendil, standing at the prow of a ship, high and noble of brow, but with a dramatic tilt of the head that spoke to the viewer of a lust for adventure and boundless courage in the face of danger. Aldarion would have posed a contradiction to those time-honored portraits only by the hint of merriment about his eyes. She had heard rumors that he was irrepressible--brilliant, but a trial to his father. That description was far from unattractive to her. She appreciated the concept of wanting to follow one’s own path against expectations.  
  
She smiled to herself at the old aphorism she had often heard made among the chattering women in the markets of Andúnië: ‘Seamen make the best sweethearts, but terrible husbands.’ It was likely as not to be followed by some sad-eyed young woman’s remark along the lines of, ‘Aye. Tis true. They’ll break your heart a thousand times over.’ No worries there for her. She had no intention of marrying the heir to the Sceptre of Númenor, whether he aspired to be a mariner or a goatherd or a reincarnated High King of the Noldor. Her mother might have delusions of grandeur, but she had none. Meanwhile, she found him a gorgeous man to observe—those broad shoulders and narrow waist, and eyes that shone as blue as a midsummer mountain sky, all the brighter contrasted to his sailor’s tan.  
  
Moving with the grace of a dancer and the strength of an athlete, the prince reached his mother and his sisters. Without concern for any courtly formality, he pulled each of them in turn into a full embrace. The girls squealed at force of his hugs, while his mother only laughed.

Despite an air of self-confident authority, he retained a boyish affectation of tossing his head repeatedly in an attempt to shake a fringe of tousled golden hair off his forehead.  
  
Beaming as though she had just witnessed the first rising of the Sun, Queen Almarian held his face in her hands and said, “My darling Anardilya!” Erendis would shortly learn that the name she used was Aldarion’s pet name within his family. “Come with me. We have a guest I would like you to meet.”  
  
He instantly swiveled to look directly at Erendis. A half-smile and a slight cock of the head informed her that he had already spotted her and, disturbingly, had noticed that she had been watching him.  
  
“Are you one of Ailinel’s little friends?” he asked blinking his thick lashes at her, a maddening mixture of black and gold, which further enhanced the beauty of his pale eyes. He really should take control of that mannerism, she thought. It might be tolerated or even charming in an adolescent boy in the first throes of awareness of the effect of his attractiveness upon women; a prince, one would presume, ought to wish to appear more self-aware.  
  
“Indeed?” she asked in an arch tone, too snippy by far. “Is it considered appropriate to refer to an acquaintance of the elder of your sisters as ‘little’?”  
  
He bit his lower lip, in yet another seemingly unconscious quirk. Bowing his head, with his hand on his chest in a gesture of supplication, he said, “You are right to chastise me. I most humbly beg your forgiveness. She will always be my baby sister to me, but I promise to try to choose my language more carefully in the presence of a mature lady like you. My eyes were deceived by the fresh bloom of your loveliness.” The apology seemed sincere, if the manner of presenting it was playful and more than a little silly.  
  
“Fie, my lord! You are making fun of me in the same breath that you ask for my pardon.” His audaciousness and her own intemperate response to it left Erendis feeling befuddled, young, provincial and, worst of all, judgmental. “Indeed, your sister _is_ younger than me,” she stammered. “But I admire her intellect.”  
  
“Is it rude to ask how old _you_ are, Lady Erendis?” She noticed that Aldarion’s voice had turned low and caressing. His hand placed in the middle of her back guided her gently away from the others. She liked being the object of the force of all that charm, but feared it as well. Her pulse quickened while her heart softened.  
  
Of course, it’s rude, she thought, but no more rude than the manner in which she had addressed the heir to the throne of Númenor.

“Still a few years younger than you perhaps. I am afraid I have been misrepresented, sir. The Queen is too generous. I am no lady. Nor is my father the lord of anyone, except himself and his own considerable talents.”

She forgave herself for being slightly disingenuous. As one of the wealthiest men in Númenor, her father was not without power. But it was true that he would never be a noble and, to the best of her knowledge, they had not a drop of the blood of Elros.  
  
Aldarion laughed and the world turned golden around him. The glorious effect might have been partially caused by the serving men’s addition of several freestanding torches. The night sky above them had by then turned completely black and studded with stars.  
  
“You have no idea how old I am, do you?” he asked in a honeyed voice. “Do you know how unusual and refreshing that is? In this city, people know everything there is to know about me, from the banal details of my daily life to my most cherished aspirations. May I accompany you into dinner?” He extended his arm to her and she took it.  
  
“I'd be honored, my lord. Rest easy if you thought I might have been one of those maidens seeking a princely husband. I am in no rush to find any kind of master. I hardly know my own mind yet.”  
  
He laughed. “I’ll admit, for the first time in my life, I had hoped for a moment that you _might_ one of those maidens. If you had been I might have been in danger of reconsidering my own reluctance to wed. But I can see now a number of reasons why I prefer you precisely the way you are and all of them make you far more appealing than the usual ladies my mother presents for my approval.”  
  
“Hmm. Sir, has anyone ever told you that you are a manipulative flirt?”  
  
“Such a sharp tongue. No doubt many have thought I am. You are the first to tell me to my face, my lady.” Against her better judgment, battered by his smile, her heart constricted again. She began to feel guilty that she had ever assumed him insincere. He was maddening, honest to a fault, frustrating, and unconscionably attractive, and her reactions to him were completely out of control.  
  
“Your highness, I presume too much. Forgive me my impertinence.”  
  
“You should call me Anardilya as I am known to my family and my closest friends. Or, if that seems too intimate for you still, at very least call me Anardil, my birth name. I will call you Erendis.” Yes. Anardil suited him. He was like a blast of sunlight breaking into a darkened room. He was also presumptuous, perhaps dangerous, and utterly delicious.  
  
As they entered into the dining room of the palace, where the lights of hundreds of candles reflected off glittering crystal and plate, he whispered into her ear. “Look. Your mother and mine are looking in our direction, quite smug. Clearly it would please them if we should desire to know one another better.” His breath upon her neck caused her to shiver.  
  
“Ha! I can see why my mother would be delighted. But I have no idea why yours would be.”  
  
“You underestimate your appeal. You are very beautiful and clever, well-spoken and just arrogant enough to fit into this august company, line of Elros or not. And different enough from the usual that she has hopes you will interest me. But no more of this stupid nonsense. It is unpleasant enough to think that everyone else here tonight will be discussing those same questions. We need not do it ourselves.”

“What would you like to talk about, Prince Aldarion?”

“Just Anardil, please. I want to know about you and where you come from. I have heard there are virgin forests in the northern lands that encroach upon father’s holdings. What are those trees like?”

She released a sigh of disappointment. If they could be friends, she would want to share her love of those primeval forests, not talk about timber. She was excited to have met this entertaining prince just when she feared of tiring of Armenelos and the latest enthusiasms of the court. A discussion of a new breed of lap dog or the surprising predominance of lavender among colors most often chosen for this season’s dresses would be intolerable after more than five minutes.  
  
“They are like all trees. Tall and strong. Smell very nice.” She grinned up at him, denying him the specific information she knew he wanted. Looking into his eyes, seeing the amused twinkle, she thought in that moment that she could learn to love him. Meanwhile the censorious imp on her shoulder accused her of being ridiculous. She did not want him and could not hold him if she had. She might as well tell him her truth about the forests.  
  
“They smell of the most marvelous green, distilled sunlight and rain. They are filled with life--insects, beasts and birds. Walking under their canopy one is enveloped in bird song, not the harsh shriek of seagulls, but a symphony of trills, coos, and burbles. And, above it all, one can sometimes see an eagle floating against the sky or a swift merlin diving to snatch a red squirrel from a branch. And the most magnificent of the woodlands’ denizens, which even you might appreciate, is the mature stag with his rack of many prongs.”  
  
Stopping to catch her breath, she looked up at him fearful of seeing that his eyes had glazed over as did those of many when she launched into one of her all too frequent immoderate odes to the northwestern forests. Instead, he looked rapt, completely engaged, perhaps slightly amused, but not in a bad way.  
  
Almost shamefaced she had to add one last qualifying statement, to make sure he got her point. “The forests are magic there at the foot of the mountains. We must not allow hunters or hounds to upset the balance of that world. There are other less pristine places where one may hunt.” Blushing, she recalled belatedly that the actual control of those unsettled lands belonged not to her but to the crown and what her handsome prince wanted from her forests was far more threatening that the encroachments of any hunters. She scowled at him and he smiled back.  
  
“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice a reverential caress. He reached his hand up to her face, a lover’s touch. She did not know it then, but it was to be the first of many. Then, breaking the mood, he laughed, a warm, rich sound. He dared to all but make love to her while standing at his father’s dinner table, in front of the entire court and their families, who waited for their dinner. She did not know if she was horrified or merely intrigued by his audacity.

“What a description,” he said. “I simply wanted to ask if the trees were tall and straight, suitable for masts.” Before she dealt with that frankly stated atrocity, she looked around to see if everyone else had taken their seats.

“Relax. We have plenty of time,” he said. “Look. The Queen at her most formidable! And frightening. Rearranging place cards. I predict you are moving up the table. I hope she puts you next to me and not across from me. What were we talking about? Masts!” He touched her face again, under the guise of brushing a stand of hair from her cheek.  
  
She fiercely grabbed his errant hand. “Oh, your highness, if you think that you . . .”

“Please, at least _try_ to call me Anardil!” She laughed with him, but with a premonition of disaster well-tamped down for the moment.  
  
 “You are far more dangerous than any hunter with his weapons, clumsy feet, and baying hounds. Stay away from my forests, you rascal!” Unspoken was the wish that he not tread heavily on her heart either.  
  
“You are a formidable adversary for anyone fool enough to counter you head on. I must learn your weaker points and plot my assault well. Now let me tell you about masts and why they are important for all of us.”  
  
“I will listen. Do not expect that you will convince me to support the ravishment of our virgin woodlands. I listen only because I know that sailors spin a fine yarn.”  
  
“Ah! Hung about the docks in Andúnië as a girl, did you? I know more about you that you realize. My sisters write me letters, filled with court gossip.” He grinned wickedly. “I have been discussing with my grandfather—Commander Vëantur—I am sure you have heard of him, the greatest shipbuilder in Númenor today, and an unparalleled mariner as well—that we must consider both taller masts and wider sails. He agrees with me. But we need timber with the right girth and single trees straight and strong enough to hold up well against the wind without undue strain on the ship itself. But a tree that tall does not come to maturity in a few short years.”  
  
“I see. So you need trees from forests which have been growing from time out of mind? Small thing that is! Shameless man.”  
  
“Such language. I think you must like me!” He smirked and she fumed back at him, not lacking in affection. She felt already like she had known him half of her life.  
  
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she said. “I think you need to figure out a way to construct masts using more than one piece of wood. Then you will not have to pillage irreplaceable resources. If Fëanor could make a Silmaril, surely a well-placed engineer like you, with so many clever associates, who has lurked about the shipyards of Rómenna since childhood, ought to be able to solve that puzzle.”  
  
“I am taking notes, fair Erendis. Actually, just teasing. You have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, but I like your spirit. Have you ever observed the pressure on a mast in gale-force winds?”  
  
“I have never been on a ship,” she asserted without shame. But she found herself looking into his eyes again and laughing aloud. No one could deny that his single-minded intensity contributed to his charm. “Look.” She nodded in the direction of the head of the table. “Your father is waiting for us to take our seats to say the _Eruhantalë_ before dinner.”  
  
His mother had seated her on the other side of the table from him, close enough to talk, but not intimately. He pulled her chair out and saw her seated, but before sliding the chair under the edge of the table, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “I will find you after dinner.”  
  
All eyes had fixed upon them. “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, but clearly. “Your wish is my command.” She turned slightly to catch his expression and was satisfied to see him grin in response. She already knew that she liked him much too much.

After dinner there was music, dancing and strolling about the palace gardens, poignant with the scent of flowers beneath that velvet starry sky. She learned he was deeply involved in plans and negotiations for another venture, this time captaining a ship of his own across the great sea to Middle-earth. The distance and expense generally meant an absence of a year or two at least. His father had not yet agreed to the project, but his determined ally and grandfather Vëantur had already secured sufficient financial backing.  
  
“Of course, you never heard me say that!” he said, laughing at himself.  
  
He went on to explain that the usual delays related to such matters would permit them time for several more walks and “a number of stolen kisses” before his departure date.  
  
He proceeded to surprise her by stealing one on the spot. He tasted of after-dinner mint—a sure sign of prior intent. He felt warm and present, not cautious about pulling her against his chest and holding her there with his strong arms. She responded immediately. She did not for a moment consider pretending to be coy or shy. All of her life she had scornfully listened to girls, who plotted how to present themselves to men, determined that she would never do that. If she wanted to, she would kiss him back and she wanted to.

But, despite that small bit of rebellion, she realized that all of her fine principles of independence and self-determination had been overturned by this large, handsome man’s confident kiss.  She could tell herself that she kissed the man and not the prince, but she knew that was a dishonest argument, as delusory as his self-deception that he could be first a mariner and engineer, and only secondly heir to the throne.

The days turned into weeks and she saw Aldarion almost daily. If he did not call on her at home, she encountered him at court. He cataloged for her with enthusiasm the progress of his preparations which would take him away from her.  
  
Nothing in her limited experience could have equipped her to imagine that spending time with him would be anything like the reality. His intelligence, fortified by learning and humor, made him a delightful companion. In those first swiftly running days, she thought of him as perfect, so tall and handsomer than even most of the Elven sailors she had espied during her childhood.

The physical attraction carried with it an element of obsession. She took an inordinate pleasure in his sculpted cheekbones and periwinkle blue eyes, nearly violet. His profile was that of a fairy story hero, his nose neither too long nor too short, high cheekbones, strong chin, his hair not simply blond, but golden, full of light and multiple nuances of color. When she caught herself, she thought of how a few short months ago such behavior would have seemed revolting to her. She called herself a lovesick fool. But it did not take her long, inexperienced as she was, to realize that the sexual awakening fed the mental disorder. She thanked the Valar that he confined his physical lovemaking to intense sessions of kissing at the end of an evening together. It was unlikely she could have resisted if he had pressed for more.

She only learned much later in their relationship that his infuriating awareness of how attractive she found him and how inexperienced she was, enabled him to prevent her from seeing beneath his swagger to comprehend how much she had in turn affected him.

“So this is good bye,” he had said to her that last night. “I cannot ask you to wait for me. I will not ask that." She had trouble looking into his eyes, determine not to cry. He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. "Are you listening? I am serious. You are too young and beautiful and I am too . . . too unsettled. I will hope though. More than I can say, I will hope to find you as you are when I return. Forgive me. It’s unfair and selfish of me to say that!”

Swallowing hard, she placed her fingertips over his beautiful lips. “Hush. Please, be careful. Come back to us.”  
  
\-------------------  
Few tiny details:  
  
No long defense, but I am quite aware there is no account that their relationship started with that first meeting, merely that they noticed one another. There could have been more which didn't make it into the histories. ;)  
Anardil is based in Quenya and means ‘devoted to the sun’; its familiar or diminutive form is Anardilya. (Tolkien is quite detailed here.)  
 _Eruhantalë_ means 'thanksgiving to Eru’ in Quenya.


	3. Winds That Blow Against a Star

  
“You should have come with us this morning,” said Núneth, her voice sharp with irritation, insistent upon shrugging out of her cape unassisted before finally handing it to her lady’s maid. “Thank you, Eirien. That will be all.” Erendis sighed at her mother. She would never learn how to behave with servants.  
  
She was in no mood either to explain to Núneth why she had not wanted to watch the farewell ceremony at the docks. “He did not expect me to be there, Nana. Quite the contrary.” _We said good bye to one another, alone last night,_ she thought, _with lovely kisses and well away from prying eyes._  
  
A veteran peacekeeper between the two women in his life, her father gave a resigned shrug before quickly adding, “We can tell you all about the ritual. It is an interesting custom. A blend of Eldarin and Númenórean sensibilities, melded with nautical myths and superstitions, and that unique devotion that all seamen seem to have to Ossë and Uinen.” Her mother rolled her eyes as he droned on. “The ceremony itself is simple, a middle ground between formal rites and a personal entreaty. The Queen herself carried the sacred bough . . .”  
  
“The _oiolairë_ ,” Erendis interjected.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “She did not actually present the _oiolairë_ to Prince Aldarion, but she boarded the ship to fasten it onto the prow herself.“  
  
Núneth huffed with impatience. “He looked terrible, Erendis!” she snapped, the implication behind her tone being that her daughter was somehow responsible. Beregar shook his head in wry amusement at the two of them.  
  
“Nana, I am quite certain that he did not look terrible,” Erendis said. “He never looks terrible,”  
  
“Well, I, for one, have never seen him look worse--down-at-mouth, preoccupied. . . .”  
  
“Did he look terrible, Ada? I’m sure he didn’t.”  
  
“No, darling. He looked serious though, solemn even. It _was_ a solemn occasion, calling upon the Ainur in the presence of the entire Court, while taking leave of his family for who knows how long, and with the King not well pleased with him. Yes, Aldarion looked serious. But hale and well.”  
  
“See, Nana! I told you.” Erendis realized she was clenching her fists in the soft cotton skirt her lovely new morning dress with the effort of trying not to sound snappish. “Are you going to sit down now and have some breakfast? Everything is ready. The tea’s going to get cold. There are warm cinnamon buns—at least they _were_ warm—and lovely poached eggs, sprinkled with toasted bread crumbs, fresh pepper, and grated cheese.”  
  
She glanced at the fruit plate where halved oranges with crimson flesh glittered in the sunlight like rubies. In her current mood, the beauty of them brought tears to her eyes. “And look at these marvelous blood oranges. Anardilya sent us an entire basket yesterday.”  
  
Her voice broke on the last few words. Why did she have to mention _him_ again? Her stomach roiled at the thought of eating, but she would be happy to endure the meal if only it would still her mother’s hectoring.  
  
“Do you want milk and sugar, Nana?” she asked, as sweetly as possible. Her attempt at controlling her voice resulted in a childlike high, thin pitch.  
  
Her mother looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Only sugar, thank you. So, you call him _Anardilya_ now? I never heard you use that before.”  
  
“Because I haven’t. He asked me to call him that, but I have tried to use it only with him.” Her lower lip trembled.  
  
“There. There, darling.” Núneth patted her on the hand. “Are you angry and upset because he did not ask you to marry him?”  
  
“What makes you so sure that he didn’t?” Erendis snatched her hand away and picked up her napkin, shaking it out with sharp snap.  
  
“Well, did he?” Her mother’s eyes and mouth popped wide open, making her look like a dyspeptic frog.  
  
“No. He did not. Good thing too. Because, if he had, I would have refused him.”  
  
“I sincerely doubt that, darling. Prince Aldarion could charm the pants off . . .” Núneth gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Beregar snorted, stifling a chuckle while rolling his eyes at their daughter. Erendis shot him a wicked smile.  
  
“Both of you are horrid,” Núneth sputtered, looking from her husband to Erendis and back again. “He wouldn’t dare? Surely _you_ wouldn’t . . .”  
  
“No, Nana. He did not. I am not at all sure that I wouldn’t have though. But he was far too honorable to try.” _Or self-protective_ , she thought to herself.  
  
Sighing, Núneth said, “Well, that’s a relief at least. Did he tell you that he loved you? Did he ask you to wait for him?”  
  
“No. And, again, no. It is a long and perilous voyage and he has no wish to wed in the foreseeable future. He has interests, Nana. Ambitions beyond those of his father. I can understand that, even if I do not share them! Have a little respect, if not for me, for him. He _will_ be your king someday.”  
  
Núneth stared at her, refusing to speak and narrowing her eyes, growing increasingly annoyed with her daughter. Erendis did not have the nerves to endure a staring contest with her mother that morning, so she reacted first.  
  
“Is this the sort of thing you gossip about among the Queen’s Ladies at Court? I certainly hope not!” If only her mother would just leave her in peace. He was gone and he had not said he loved her and had explicitly asked her not to wait.  
  
Erendis tossed her napkin onto the table, before she jumped to her feet, her chair shrieking in protest as it scraped against the marble floor. Not looking back, she flounced out of the room. But it was not even a good flounce—appearing more petulant than dramatic—and brought her very little satisfaction.  
  
Her mother called after her, “I gave birth to you, young lady. I do not have to tolerate such . . . “  
  
She heard her father’s soft voice, almost a whisper. “Hush, sweetheart. Let her go. This is her first love; her first heartbreak. That is no small thing.”  
  


o0o0o0o

  
  
Before he left, Erendis could never have imagined how long one of Aldarion’s trips to Ennor might last. It occurred to her at numerous points that she and Aldarion counted the days differently. Seven years to a woman of the House of Bëor, was entirely different from seven years to a man of the line of Elros. She would grow old and infertile while he still had years stretching before him and comparatively limitless choices as to how he might spend those days. And that was only the beginning of their differences.  
  
During the long absence of Aldarion, Erendis traveled to the Westlands and back again at least six or seven times. But far from loathing her time in the capital, she found she had learned to enjoy the City of Kings. She grew fonder of Queen Almarian, probably because they shared a helpless fascination with her wandering son. Although they never spoke of him, Erendis felt that being around one another somehow made him feel neither so far away nor so long absent.  
  
Meanwhile, the elder of Aldarion’s sisters, Princess Ailinel, knew everything there was to know about how to gain access to the collections housed by the Library and the most notable minds of the Academy as well. In regard to the latter, it was not entirely common, but neither was it unheard for women to study there, although more often than not in the fields of arts and letters. Less frequently did women study the sciences. Erendis, not surprisingly, was fascinated by forestry and conservation, as well as animal husbandry and veterinary science. She was not ashamed to admit either that her interests were more practical than theoretical.  
  
Although Aldarion would insist in later years that Erendis never tried to understand him, she always believed just as strongly that she _did_ try. She studied maps of the Númenórean coastline marveling at the wealth of protected natural harbors and bays that made her island birthplace a mariner’s dream. With that knowledge, the temptation to take to the sea was easier to understand if no more palatable to her.  
  
She read the diaries and chronicles of the increasing number of sea voyages from Númenor to Middle-earth over the last one hundred years, after reading the accounts of exploratory voyages all around the entire island throughout the century preceding those. She learned the older history, reading multiple versions of the voyages of Eärendil and comparing the earliest of the children’s tales of Círdan the Shipbuilder to the more recent versions, all of which seemed largely mythological. She wondered why someone did not simply interview Círdan and write a strictly factual account of what he knew. She could imagine doing that herself if it did not require crossing an ocean.  
  
As much as she found sea tales deeply disturbing--weeks on end with no land in sight, ships lost never to be heard from again--she was drawn over and over to the Eärendil histories. In tale after depressing tale, certain elements were repeated without much variation. Eärendil would sail away leaving his wife behind with their two tiny children. Finally, the annoying man would build his much lauded _Vingilótë_ , and set off to explore the forbidden seas to the west of Middle-earth. Could anything have been more predictable than that the horror of Arvernien would follow in his absence? Had Elwing begged him not to leave her? Did she believe the Silmaril had been forgotten? Did Eärendil? How could they have?  
  
The men who write history, of course, had never seen Eärendil as shortsighted, or an irresponsible husband or neglectful father, but had made him into the ultimate hero. Nothing less than the savior of Middle-earth. And what of Elwing and those abandoned little boys? Some versions said that Elwing finally got her purported happy ending, sometimes a bird--a hideous gull no less--sometimes a woman, never to see her infant sons again. And it seemed unclear to Erendis whether the man transformed into a godlike star-bearer still made love to the woman-turned-bird? And, if so, was that enough to make up for the loss of their children and any semblance of a normal life?  
  
At that point, she might break down and cry, finding herself unable to read any more of ships and the sea for weeks to months. As often as not, following one of those nights, she would decide to take a delayed and much-needed trip to the Westlands, leaving the city and thoughts of Aldarion completely behind her.  
  
But Erendis was always welcomed back in court by the Queen and her daughters whenever she was ready to return. To her credit, Aldarion’s sister Princess Ailinel never found Erendis’ choices of subject matter for practical study the least bit odd. Her flightier sister did, but in no way discouraged the other two women when they whiled away long afternoons talking about such questions as native forests and conservation.  
  
One day before the start of festivities for the winter holidays in the seventh year of Aldarion’s absence, Erendis looked up to see Almiel pause in the doorway of the palace solar. She watched as Erendis and Ailinel poured over a scroll containing a study on the palliative effects of moderate grazing of herds of domestic sheep on soil erosion versus the negative effects of overpopulation by the wild long-horned variety. Hunting apparently, in this case, helped reduce the native population and aided in the preservation of valuable top soil.  
  
“Well, nothing is ever simple is it?” Erendis said, the gaiety of her tone ever so slightly tinged with frustration. The more she learned the less she knew.  
  
“So, back to the Library? Or does this proposition call for investigation in The Wild?” Ailinel asked. “I have long wanted to visit the Emerië with you.” Erendis could not resist a smile at the thought of considering the gentle slopes and homely cottages of the foothills of Emerië, with its crops of olives, grapes, and melons, in addition to its sleepy herds of sheep, as _The Wild_.  
  
The little princess, instead of making one of her usual good-natured jokes about how she was too preoccupied with the upcoming masked ball to debate with the two of them over treatises on soil erosion or dangers of deforestation, said, “Do not be too hasty to make plans. I know something you don’t know. Ada just confirmed which three very interesting ships landed in Rómenna late yesterday.”  
  
The two older maidens shrieked and jumped to their feet, sending a scroll careening off the table, unwinding as it rolled across the marble floor.  
  
“Almiel! Almiel!” screamed Ailinel. “Don’t be cruel? Has _Palarran_ landed? Is Anardilya on his way home?”  
  
Erendis clutched at the arm of her chair and plopped back into the seat. She felt faint and thought for a moment she might black out. “Oh!” she squeaked, feeling all of the blood rush to her face. He really was coming home.  
  
“He’s probably arriving with grandfather tomorrow afternoon or early evening,” Almiel crowed triumphantly, before she noticed Erendis’ discomfort. “Oh, look at you, Erendis! Aww! I am so happy you did not go to the Westlands for the holidays. He’ll be so pleased to find you here.”  
  
“If he even remembers who I am!” she stammered. “He’s never written.”  
  
“Oh, please!” Almiel said. “First, even Ada has only heard from him less than once a year and, secondly, you told me yourself that he did not want to force you to wait. Of course, he will be happy to see you. He always looked at you like you’d just hung the moon and you are so much more beautiful now. Now stop your blubbering before you make your eyes all red and swollen.”  
  
And, so it was in the mild midwinter, fully seven years after Aldarion had left, that he and his venerated grandfather Vëantur traveled from Rómenna to the holiday court in Armenelos for the celebrations of Mettarë and Yestarë.

  


o0o0o0o

  
Erendis stood at the entrance to the grand ballroom. Her dress was perfect, long and elegant, the finest of bleached white wool with a high waistline and see-through gossamer sleeves barely covering her shoulders. Its square neckline trimmed in bright blue satin ribbon set off her long neck. The simple flowing line of the dress made her look taller. A handheld peacock-feather mask completed the picture. She knew she looked beautiful.  
  


  
And yet, she still felt young, silly and anxious. Intending to look around the room and spot Aldarion so that she could observe him from a safe distance, she glanced to her right, only to see his bright shock of hair and flirtatious smile. It was ludicrous to think of trying to hide Aldarion behind a simple half-mask of dark silk.  
  
He was at her side within an instant, his warm hand enclosing her bare upper arm exposed between her sleeve and her long fingerless evening gloves.  
  
“Lady Erendis,” he said, bowing ostentatiously low and kissing her hand. He had the sheer audacity to dart his tongue between two of her fingers. Only Aldarion would dare. There was nothing she could do to react that would not cause a scene, so she capitulated and smiled. He hadn't changed a bit and she loved it.  
  
“My lord.” She curtsied, utterly unable to stop a grin from overtaking her face, scarcely suppressing a laugh.  
  
“You waited for me!” he insisted, all innocent wide eyes, so pale and bright against his wind-burned cheeks.  
  
“In your dreams,” she lied, giggling as she allowed him to pull her into his arms, in front of all of Armenelos.  
  
“Out. This way.” He steered her in the direction of the double doors at the end of the ballroom. “We can talk more easily on the veranda. I’m so happy to see you. I am so glad you waited. I asked Amil outright if you had married someone else. I was thrilled when she told me you had not. She loves you, you know.”  
  
“And why wouldn’t she? You know everyone is watching us,” she said still grinning, although the slightly higher register of her voice revealed her humor to be forced. She did not like being studied by these people.  
  
“If you are trying to discourage me from kissing you, it is not going to work. I have waited so long and have been afraid to hope. Your beauty breaks my heart.” That he was as happy and relieved to see her as she was to see him was obvious from the tender break in his deep voice. “That smile of yours. Not exactly discouraging. And still the most beautiful woman in the room. I have a gift for you, my darling girl. I was going to give it to you even if you had already married the stuffiest old fart in Armenelos. ” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue sapphire, not overly large, but stunning in its perfection, dangling on a mithril chain. "May I put it on you?"  
  
She could not speak or she would cry, so she only nodded and gulped. "The blue is perfect," he said, pleased with himself like a boy who is sure he has done the right thing. Placing an arm around her, he guided her toward the veranda door, pulling it closed behind them. She could see around his shoulder that three footmen clad in the king’s livery closed ranks in front of the door warding them against the casual observer.  
  
It ought to have been too cold to stand for long outside in the crisp rain-washed air, mild for midwinter but too chilly for Erendis’ thin festival gown. In the summer vines shaded the porch from the worst of the afternoon sun. On a winter evening there was nothing to keep out the wind. But the heat radiating from Aldarion’s strong body, the closeness of his embrace, and the warmth of his kisses prevented her immediately noticing just how cold it was.  
  
Everything about his kisses felt at once familiar and strange. She involuntarily released a little humming sigh in appreciation of how right it felt to be in his arms again. A few kisses later she shivered and laughed.  
  
“You’re cold! Here take my cape.” He unfastened the largely ornamental garment, a rich mariner’s blue trimmed with the golden braid of an admiral, and wrapped her snugly in it. She relished that it was still toasty from his body heat. “There!” he said satisfied. “You look like the sweetheart of a very considerate sailor.”  
  
“Last we discussed the matter, I was told by a most inconsiderate sailor that it would be unwise to wait for him.”  
  


o0o0o0o

  
  
Their happiness at seeing one another again, the joy they found in the time they spent together should have been enough, despite the disagreements and arguing, if it had not been for the nagging and intrusive questions from others about marriage and betrothal. They could scarcely cross his father's court without all faces turning toward them, speculative whispers only barely constrained until the couple were out of earshot. Aldarion's parents began to make open allusions to his marriage in the near-future, her parents going along with the suggestion almost giddily.  
  
Their physical intimacy drove both of them a little crazy. They adhered to what the cheeky Almiel liked to call, tossing her blond curls, "the everything-but-the-real-thing style of loving making," which at first enthralled them both. Eventually, it began to feel sad and frustrating, not enough and slightly tawdry. She thought if it were anyone but Aldarion she might not have resisted. But the last thing her pride would allow her was to become the mistress of the heir to the crown of Númenor.  
  
What had begun so well that first night deteriorated in the months that followed, until they no longer saw one another every day but at most once a week and, finally, only once a month or less and then never except in company. Aldarion took to spending most of his time in Rómenna. It pained her already battered heart, but still she could not hate him for it. She thought she resented the King more, while Aldarion more likely than not saw both her and his father as in league against him. What woman wants a man to choose her because his father insists that he needs a wife?  
  
Word of the rupture with his father over Aldarion’s next proposed trip spread throughout the city. In all of Erendis’ years in and around the court in Armenelos, this was the only incident which manifested the depth of the estrangement between Aldarion and the King that she had witnessed first-hand. His sisters wept openly at a tea party which included Erendis and other close friends. She was filled with dread over what Aldarion’s recalcitrance might mean.  
  
When his mother approached her, she agreed to her request without a second thought.  
  


o0o0o0o

  
  
Almost hidden by the early morning sea-fog, Erendis could see the masts of the ships in the harbor of Rómenna, peaking over sturdy stone walls, over buildings of brick and gabled wooden houses alike. The morning mist gathered in the lavender shadows, blurring the sharp stone corners and peaked windows of the buildings along the harbor way. She turned a corner and looked down a cobbled street, her first clear view of the harbor.  
  
There lay the _Palarran_ , the magnificent lady, Aldarion’s darling, proud and grand, against whom she had fought for his affectation for the entire last period of her life. _Palarran_ ’s tall masts and deep bosom dwarfed the lesser ships around her and many of the quayside structures as well.  
  
Rumors had spread quickly that the King had forbidden Aldarion to leave on this new voyage. Despite her own antipathy toward yet another extended trip, the thought of Aldarion’s disappointment and frustration touched her heart. As much as she hated Aldarion’s leaving, with an intensity of dread equal to that of his father, she loathed the thought of anyone, even her self-centered and distractible sometimes lover, being bound to a life they did not want.  
  
So, Erendis carried the sacred bough of _oiolairë_ , which the King had forbidden Aldarion’s mother or sisters to bring to him, clutching it to her chest as though it were a prickly infant. She would give him his hallowed branch and pray him off, and good riddance to him. Even if he made the crossing and returned in half the time he had allotted, and he _always_ took more time than he promised, never less, she would still be miffed when he returned.  
  
“Thank you so much for doing this, my dearest friend,” he said, his lack of guile nearly as annoying as outright dissimulation would have been. “When I heard that you were coming and bringing me the bough, I could hardly believe it. I’m speechless.” The tip of his nose turned red with emotion. She was not sure if she wanted to slap him or tell him she would come with him. If only she could, but the thought made her feel queasy.  
  
“I will have you know, sir, that I do not like aiding and abetting your absences at all.”  
  
Then only did he give her a knowing smile. “Thank you for reminding me. I had almost forgotten your attitude about my trips. Now give me a kiss that will last me three years.”  
  
“I thought I had heard you said two years this time!”  
  
“Whoever gave you that idea? My mother? I never would have said two! Maybe I said I would stay two years, but then there is the time spent getting there and back again, and weather, and other things. All sorts of things.” His smile grew wider by the second.  
  
“You fool!” She tried to yank herself free of his embrace while his arms tightened around her. Finally she relaxed, resting her head upon his chest, listening to the beat of his intrepid heart. “Oh, how I love you, bloody fool! May the Valar speed and protect you and bring you home unharmed!”  
  
“I’ll count the days until I return to you. The entire time I am gone, I will long for your company every day,” he said. She could hear the laughter in his voice that she couldn’t see with her nose squashed against his scratchy woolen cloak.  
  
“You’re an awful, shameless liar!” she mumbled into the cloak, still trying to break his iron grip. When he unexpectedly released her, she staggered backwards, nearly tripping and falling on her arse. His eyes flashing with mirth, he caught her.  
  
“You wound me,” he said, touching the sprig and sniffing. “Smells nice. The scent doesn’t reach one on board. It’s powerful. It smells like power, don’t you think? I owe you more than I can ever express for this. I do not know if the gods need bribing or not." He made the sailor’s sign against evil on his forehead and his lips. "But I do know that I need no naysayers left behind me here in this City and the viper’s nest of my father’s court, reminding those who would speak against me that I left without my King’s permission or the blessing of the gods.”  
  
“Everyone will know you sailed with the bough and that we said the proper prayers. But the Valar and the Maiar are not gods. Eru is the only god and he doesn’t speak to us. The Valar are guardians, guides, nearly friends perhaps.”  
  
“Invisible friends with unknowable ways.” He smirked at her and studied her face, trying to gauge her reaction to his blasphemy. He did so love to wind her up. She schooled her features, not about to give him a clue. “Ah, well. I am no philosopher, am I?” he drawled. “Who am I to unravel the secrets of our existence, much less our relationship to the Valar. I know whom I respect and like the most among them though. That would be my Lord Ulmo, along with Ossë and Uinen, of course.”  
  
“You don’t fool me. You serve no one but yourself, my lord.” She frowned at him, trying to conceal her amusement, but she could not hide a truncated laughed that transformed into a snort. “You are a blackguard and a scandal to your people. I suppose I do still love you, which doesn’t ever change anything.” They laughed together. He stopped first, looking at her with an expression of great tenderness. He _would_ break her heart. She knew that as well as she knew her own name.  
  
“Well, I’ve foiled him in this,” he said, meaning his father. “With your help--for which I am very grateful. For all of Ada’s blustering and throwing threats and prohibitions in my path, I am still his fair-haired only son.” He grinned, provocatively biting his lower lip. “He should remember that I am beloved by our people in my own right.”  
  
“You could be. Perhaps someday you will be. At the moment, you are well tolerated and indulged. A bit like an eccentric child.”  
  
“Even you cannot understand, with all of your fine intellect and way with words. I am the one who is thinking of our future. I look beyond this treasured, protected island. An island kingdom cannot flourish without ships. Anyway, I will return soon and we can talk more then. I know I have not treated you well recently and owe you several explanations. I will return and serve a dutiful apprenticeship to my father and my king, once I complete this last and most important errand. Then, perhaps, I’ll even father an heir and some spares for Númenor. If only I can find the right woman.”  
  
A lump swelled in her throat. Oh, he thought he was so humorous, but he did know how to cut to the bone. She smacked him on the upper arm and swallowed to relieve the scratchiness of her throat.  
  
“Lying again! Last and most important trip indeed! There will always be another. Meanwhile, don’t expect me to wait here for you forever. Two years. Not a day longer!”  
  
“Three years, dear lady. Grant me three at least. You _could_ end this debate once and for all by marrying me and coming with me next time.”  
  
“You’ve never ever asked, you know. Do you realize that you actually shuddered just now when you said that word ‘ _marry_ ’?”  
  
“Did not. Three years then?”  
  
“If I grant you three, you will take four. You’ll take four anyway. Honestly! I’ll be lucky to see you in six.”  
  
“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you coming today. I would have hated to have left with no one who really cared to see me off. And the bough! You have no idea how superstitious sailors are. Thank you. I do love you. I do. I do.”  
  
He kissed her and she wondered why she liked the taste of sea salt on his lips, on his skin, when she hated the scent of it in the briny air and so feared the wide ocean. _Because it will take him from me_ , she thought.  
  
“I miss you already, my darling,” he said. “But you know what they say about time and tide.”  
  
“Indeed. I do. You have told me often enough.” Her voice sounded rough and nasal from the unshed tears. The gulls screamed and the wind whipped her hair across her face catching in her mouth and on the aromatic branch of _oiolairë_. The bough smelled sweet, fresh as the pines in her beloved forests, but blended with an indefinable floral scent.  
  
“Tell me that you want me to come back to you and not that you simply brought the sprig to comfort my mother.”  
  
“Stupid man, of course, it was for you. You and I play a different game, Anardil, with different rules, in a different field. I never asked you for love eternal. I ask that you love me as much you can for as long as you will and show it by not rushing off for years at a time. At least not without some basic courtesy or pretense of compromise. Is that really so much to ask?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he raised his voice against the wind. “Maybe we fell in love with the wrong people.” He heard a whistle and turned to look at the ship. A line of valiant sailors leaned over the side watching with them great interest and broad smiles. They had spotted the sacred bough it seemed. “It’s time. I should have been aboard already. Come with me. Make _this_ trip with me. That is a brilliant idea! Wouldn’t you love to see Lindon and dance with a handsome Elven king? It’s not too late. A bit unconventional perhaps, but forgivable . . . ”  
  
“No!” she said, laughing at him, while her heart felt like a lump of ice in chest, easy to ask when he knew she’d refuse. _I should say ‘yes,’_ she thought, _just to see the terrified look on his face_.  
  
He kissed her again. “I still cannot believe you brought this to me. Perhaps I have underestimated you.” He sniffed the bough. “You are right when you say that it is more than I deserve. But I love you for it and I will never forget what it must have cost you.”  
  
“Oh, I almost forgot that I have to go onto that ship with you.” She grimaced involuntarily. “That’s the tradition. Your mother says I must fasten it onto the prow myself.” The prow was high and hung so far out over the water. She had not taken that aspect into serious consideration.  
  
“Well, then we better do that quickly, because time and tide . . . “  
  
“Wait for no man,” she finished for him, laughing. “Don’t let me fall into that water. It looks filthy. Disgusting beyond belief.”  
  
“Harbor water is never clean. But don’t worry. I’ll not let you fall. I’ll hold onto to your skirts!”  
  
______________  
 _Oiolairë_ = the Bough of Return  
 _Palarran_ = Quenya, meaning Far-wanderer, name of one of the famous ships built by Aldarion  
  
  
  



End file.
